


Heart of Ice

by MisguidedCreations



Series: Series A [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Historical, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25309642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisguidedCreations/pseuds/MisguidedCreations
Summary: Emma Lawrence has grown up in a society that prides itself on reserve and decorum. So when people begin freezing into solid ice, it’s up to Emma and two mysterious strangers to solve the mystery, lest pride come before the fall.
Series: Series A [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831882
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Tobias Hampton removed his handkerchief from his lapel pocket and unfolded it gently. He was sweating again. Profusely. He would have liked to blame it on this room, packed full of people, a large proportion of whom were gently dancing, surrounded by several hundred candles that glowed in the distance. Or he could have blamed it on the fact that he was wearing several layers of finery his father had bought for him from a tailor’s in Cambridge for this specific occasion, worsened by the need for even more under layers owing to the sudden drop of temperature outside.

But really, he knew what was causing him to sweat. She was sat a few metres in front of him.

Tobias dabbed his forehead gently, trying his best to make it look like a natural movement rather than an act of desperation. She still hadn’t spotted him, which was good, but he still hadn’t worked up the courage to approach her, which was bad.

The musicians finished their number and the dancers ended their routine as if precisely practised. They bowed to each other, and Tobias used the subsequent smattering of polite applause to make his approach towards his goal.

He stood above her, uncomfortably, for several minutes. Her dark hair was carefully piled on top of her head, bounded by a string of small flowers, and she was dressed in a striking dark blue dress that she absently brushed from time to time. He was sure she must have been aware of his presence, but she did not look up from her book, instead casually turning the pages and giving the slightest of eyebrow movements when a particular line caught her interest.

Tobias held his nerve and rallied himself, finally working up the courage to give the smallest cough it might be possible to give.

Emma, finally deciding to let the poor boy out of his misery, finished reading the page, closed her book, and gave him a small smile.

“Mr. Hampton,” she said, absently stroking the book’s cover as if she was only partly paying attention.

“Miss…Miss. Lawrence,” Tobias babbled. He was immediately regretting this situation.

“Is something the matter?” she asked delicately, and, even though she wouldn’t admit it, desperately hoped something was, for the alternative was much worse.

“No, no, everything is perfectly fine. Your house is magnificent and your Great Aunt has put on a…resplendent evening. She has once again outdone herself!”

Emma gave something of a disappointed smile and tilted her head slightly. She wanted nothing more than to give the boy a conciliatory rub on the shoulder, a small treat from the side table, and send him to go play outside as one would a dog.

Because this is what her Great Aunt Petunia did; she turned men into subjugated, lifeless whelps that did her bidding simply because that was the done thing. In any other context, a widowed woman in her seventies holding such power over the male populace might be considered a small scandal. But then Petunia Winchester-Blythe would simply give her detractors a very hard stare and everything would somehow right itself.

“Mr. Hampton,” Emma said, rising to her feet but still keeping a finger trapped in her book where she had left off in her reading. “I would rather neither of us came out of this encounter improperly. Unfortunately, I feel that before you even came here tonight our destinies had been written by…let us say ‘higher forces’.”

Emma gave a knowing look that Tobias didn’t quite respond to.

“All things considered, you are the fourth gentleman to approach me tonight, and I would doubt that you will be the last. And so, favouring expediency over elegance, I must tell you the same thing I told and will tell the others; I am supremely grateful for your offer of a dance, but must unfortunately decline as I have other matters to attend to. I foolishly underestimated the supreme task of completing the execution of a ball, and thus have found myself simply ‘rushed off my feet’ as they say. I do so hope, however, that another of the very fine women attending tonight will fulfil the courtesy that I cannot, and I would be more than happy to point you in the direction of one if it would suit.”

Emma, whose impassive face maintained a slightly vacant smile, awaited a response from Tobias who had either been too overwhelmed or too lost as to say anything for the past few minutes.

“Thank you, Miss. Lawrence,” he finally managed. “However, I…am in need of some air.”

“Of course,” Emma replied, sitting back down and opening her book once more. “Do be careful though, there is an awful chill out there this evening.”

Tobias nodded and hastily retreated, from Emma’s presence, from the room and eventually from the building.

It was indeed cold outside tonight, a frost already forming on the ground, but the embarrassment and general discomfort Tobias had felt was enough to keep him uncomfortably warm.

Why hadn’t he spoken up? Said something? Interrupted? No, that was far too impolite – raised a hand implying a desire to respond?

Tobias sat on one of the cold steps, no longer caring about the irreparable damage contact with frozen dirt would no doubt do to his father’s present. He removed his handkerchief once more, now slightly limp from overuse, and wiped his forehead and face out of pure exhaustion.

The cold was finally penetrating through to Tobias’s senses, and he withdrew his hands into his pockets, giving a shiver.

It would not do to catch a fever out here, though, simply because someone had simultaneously anticipated and rejected his advances in one fell move. Tobias made to go back inside and sulk in a corner.

Only he couldn’t.

He looked down, confused. Without realising, his legs had become stiff, as if glued to the step he was sat on. A numbness from the cold, he initially suspected, but after touching and prodding them he noticed he still had feeling in his thighs and calves.

Tobias tried to move his feet but found them stuck, too. Stuck and lethally cold, colder than one would think from a night only just below freezing. Instead, it felt like he’d plunged his bare feet into a bucket of snow and held them there.

Tobias felt his heart begin to pound and the nervous sweat return to his head. He went to retrieve his handkerchief but found his right hand stuck to the ground next to him. His left hand, meanwhile, remained in his pocket, but he could no longer move its respective digits.

“Help!” he yelled, unsure what was happening, but fearing total paralysis. “Somebody!”

There was no reply because why would there be; everyone else was tucked up safely inside the warm inclines of the hall.

The more Tobias tried to wiggle and move, the less freedom he found in his limbs. He felt like he was in a waking nightmare, his body no longer responding to his instructions.

Tobias glanced down to his legs and now noticed that they had changed colour. The rich black of his suit had become frosted over with a cool blue-white tinge that almost seemed smooth and glistened in the moonlight.

“What?” Tobias managed, as he watched the blue-white creep up his legs, like the tide up a beach.

It travelled, quickly, up his torso, and joined with similar waves that passed up both his arms and met at his neck.

“Please! Someone, please help!” Tobias yelled, feeling the ice take grip around his throat, desperately trying to angle his head upwards as if to stop its growth.

He felt his lips turn blue and the very saliva in his mouth freeze into nothingness. He thought of his father. His dear brother Charles. Emma. Who he had doted on for years, but had only just plucked up the courage to talk to, irrespective of any influence from Petunia Winchester-Blythe. How he wished he’d said something. Anything.

Tobias Hampton was now a perfect figurine. Almost life-like. A solid, azure statue, the moon’s rays dancing on its surface.

And just like that he exploded, into a cloud of dust and ice crystals that scattered across the ground and were carried along gently in the northerly wind.


	2. Chapter 2

“We’re here!” the Doctor called, pulling on a lever as the TARDIS came to rest.

“That’s it?” Matt responded sceptically.

“That’s it. We have officially travelled in time. You’d think it would get less exciting eventually, but it never does,” she grinned.

“OK, then,” Matt nodded, looking towards the beckoning doors, trying to take it all in. “Where are we?”

The Doctor tapped at a keyboard and peered at a strange, alien string of characters on a screen. “Earth. London. 1953.”

“And this is where the TARDIS thinks we’ll find another time disturbance?”

“Supposedly. It led me to you last time, so I’ll take her word for it.”

The Doctor bounced around the console and pulled her coat on, “Maybe I’ll bring my umbrella. I usually forget it and then it always ends up raining. Sometimes literal cats and dogs.”

“You’re going to walk around with an umbrella?”

“Course not! I’ll keep it in my pocket.”

“I’m…not even going to ask.”

The Doctor picked up a shoddy-looking multi-coloured umbrella from under the TARDIS console and twirled it in her hands. “Ready to go?”

“Do you mind if I get out of these clothes first? It’s the only stuff I own now, and it feels like I’ve been wearing it for weeks. Time having lost all meaning and stuff.”

“Sure. Down the corridor, two rights and a left. If you reach the arboretum you’ve gone too far. _Unless_ it’s the one with blue squirrels in, and then you need to go a bit further.”

Matt sighed, already knowing that he had become used to the Doctor’s nonsense, and left down the hallway.

He reappeared several seconds later (owing to a time distortion field in the second arboretum that the Doctor had neglected to mention), adjusting a bow tie on top of a dazzlingly white shirt.

The Doctor furrowed her eyebrows. “I know I can’t really criticise someone for being overdressed, but…”

“I know. I spent an hour trying to remember what they wore in 50’s Britain. And then thought maybe I’d stand out less in a suit? Why do you have some many men’s clothes anyway?”

The Doctor waved her hand, “I was going through a phase. Come on, let’s see where we landed.”

The two jogged down to the doors and peered out.

They had arrived in some sort of large parlour. Beside the TARDIS, a fire crackled softly in its confines, accompanied by the rhythmic ticking of a nearby grandfather clock. Matt approached a chair and prodded the white velvet cushions.

“Pretty posh. Must be some stately home.”

Suddenly there was a creak from behind them as a large oak door swung inwards, an elderly man dressed in a suit appearing in the gap.

“Oh!” he exclaimed upon seeing Matt and the Doctor. “My apologies, sir. I was sent to retrieve my lady’s knitting needles; I had not realised this room was occupied. I shall return later.”

The man made to leave, but the Doctor bundled her way towards him. “No, don’t go on our account, we just got a bit lost.”

“Of course. Would you allow me to accompany you to the main hall?”

“I would love to allow it!” the Doctor smiled, and beckoned Matt to follow as the older gentleman directed them down an ornate hallway.

As they walked down endless corridors, Matt found himself becoming increasingly suspicious, and after the man showed them to a balcony and bid his farewells his scepticism was proven to be well-earned.

They looked out from the balcony to a grand ballroom below. Every man was dressed in a finely cut suit, every woman in a large, lavish ballgown that dominated the view. Many stood around the perimeter, quietly chatting to one another, but in the centre were several couples, dancing elegantly to a blend of violins and cellos.

“1953, eh?” Matt asked.

“I guess that ‘9’ did look a bit like an ‘8’,” the Doctor allowed. “No matter, 1853 is just as good. Better, in fact; the Queen still likes me at this point.”

“Can we have a strict ‘no dancing’ rule?”

“Too late! The music is already in me,” the Doctor proclaimed, moving her body in a way that was neither logical for the time or for the very medium of dance.

The two walked across to the stairway that led down to the main hall, Matt trying to inconspicuously nod to people as he walked to give the air of being somewhere he should be.

He was so concentrated on trying to not stand out that he proceeded to bump in to a young woman, who dropped the book she was carrying, but just about remained upright herself.

“Gracious!” she said. “Ever so sorry.”

“No, it’s totally on me,” Matt responded, reaching to pick up her book. “ _Jane Eyre_ , huh?”

The woman smiled bashfully. “Yes, I just purchased it last week. Thought I would try and get some light reading in.”

“At a party?” the Doctor balked.

“We have a somewhat vast library here and I must admit to having something of a literary predilection,” Emma explained.

“I hear _Jane Eyre_ ’s a good one; I was supposed to read it for class one time but never quite got around to it.”

“They are teaching it in classes already?” the woman queried.

“Well…I mean…we were studying female writers and I guess there aren’t that many around. Currently?” Matt babbled.

“So you suspect the mysterious Mr. Bell to be of the fairer gender too?”

Matt began making strange, fish-like mouth movements, causing the Doctor to give him a sharp jab with her elbow.

“Maybe quit while you’re ahead.”

“I am awfully sorry, but I must be off; my Great Aunt is having minor palpitations about the liquified state of some ice creams we were due to serve. Please do enjoy the rest of this evening.”

And with that the woman rushed off up the stairs, strangely nimble and largely inelegant as she made her ascent.

“Time travel’s hard,” Matt harrumphed.

“Don’t worry, just do what I do; talk really fast until people are either too confused or too tired to keep up.”

Matt and the Doctor made it to the lower floor and it was only now, among so many bodies, so many actual human bodies from two centuries before his time that the enormity of time travel briefly took Matt’s breath away. It was like being in a living photograph, but so all-consuming that he could count the individual strands of hair neatly held in place on top of the woman’s head in front of him.

There was something strangely intoxicating about the thought of leaving this house, going out onto a street not yet lit by electric, travelling down a road not yet consumed by cars, heading in any direction and it still being 1853. People living their lives with no knowledge of how much things will change, simply existing in this singular time that he had now appeared in. He suddenly felt very small.

“Holding it together?” the Doctor asked, as if she could sense his thoughts.

Matt nodded and flexed his shoulders. “So how does one start searching for a time anomaly?”

A piercing scream cut through the general din of the dance hall, causing the music to stop and a mix of gasps and general murmuring from the attending guests.

“You normally just wait for that to happen.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Why are we the only ones running?” Matt asked, as he and the Doctor sprinted out of the hall and down a corridor.

“The scream came from downstairs; it’s quite literally below them.”

The two burst through several more doors and down a narrow, stone set of steps before emerging in to what was evidently the kitchen.

The room was largely cramped, exacerbated by the fact that nearly all of the walls were lined with shelves holding a range of pots and pans and trays of varying sizes. There was a black stove in the middle of one wall, a copper kettle on top filling the room with steam, and a large table that ran down the centre of the room, on which rested a range of food in various stages of the preparation process.

There was a group of around six or seven women huddled in one corner, clearly in a collective state of shock, staring across the table at one particular spot.

At first, Matt reasoned that someone had simply dropped some kind of ice bucket, leaving a scattering of shards of ice across the floor and along the wall. But the more he looked at the strange ice-white marks that ran from the oak flooring and up the adjacent wall, the more it looked as if there had been some sort of explosion; you could literally see a central impact blast from which the cold marks spread out.

The women barely seemed to notice the Doctor and Matt entering the room, desperately holding on to one another in a silence only broken by their terrified sobbing.

“Is everyone OK? What happened here?” the Doctor demanded, immediately running across to the frozen area and pulling out her sonic screwdriver.

“It’s…it was Rosie…” one of the women managed.

“Rosie?” Matt asked the woman softly. “Is she alright? What happened to her?”

“She…she…ex…exploded.”

“Exploded?” Matt frowned, turning to the Doctor.

The Doctor examined her readings. “I’m picking up trace amounts of human DNA but there’s barely anything left.”

“I’m sorry, what do you mean ‘exploded’?” Matt asked. “What caused her to explode?”

The woman he had been speaking to let out a yelp and began crying even more, causing several other women to sit her down on a nearby stool.

“That Rosie was a harlot,” a thin, older woman proclaimed, pointing a bony finger. “God Himself punished her for her sins. He took her heart and froze her on the spot.”

“Froze her?” the Doctor asked, looking up.

“What the Devil is going on down here?” a voice called from the steps.

An elderly lady dressed in a small but smart black gown eased herself down the stairs, accompanied by a young woman, the one Matt had bumped in to shortly before.

“You have one purpose tonight and that is to cook the food, and if you cannot cook the food I will find people who are able to cook the food and not stand about gossiping like a gaggle of ungracious geese,” the older woman shrieked, somehow managing to tower over the group of women despite her diminutive size.

“Has something happened?” the young woman asked, looking between the women, Matt, the Doctor, and the strange ice patch on the wall.

“What is this?” the older woman yelled, noticing the frozen area. “Get this cleaned up this instant! No wonder you are all so incompetent as to be unable to maintain the frozen state of my desserts if you are spilling the stuff on my flooring. Do you simply believe ice grows on trees?”

“It’s frozen water,” Matt said a little too loudly, earning a scornful look from the older lady and a suppressed laugh from the younger one.

“It’s just…Rosie, madam, she…uh, well…” stammered a maid that could have been mistaken for a child.

“Gone home early again, has she?” the older woman spat. “Well, this is certainly the last time she will step foot on my premises. And the same applies to anyone else who does not get back to work immediately.”

There was a sudden burst of movement as everyone tried to return to their previous tasks no matter how much their bodies refused it. There seemed to be an unspoken exclusion zone surrounding the ice patch, however, although one diligent lady appeared with a mop and bucket, to whom the Doctor shook her head and instead placed a conciliatory hand on her shoulder.

“And what exactly are you two doing down here?” the old woman said, turning on Matt and the Doctor.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced; I’m the Doctor and this is my friend Mr. Matthew Blake.” The Doctor stretched out a hand that was given a derisive look in return.

“The ball is upstairs. It would be preferable if you returned and kept away from the riffraff. Come along, Emma.”

The old woman turned and promptly mounted the stairs, cursing to herself as she left.

“Charming,” Matt sighed. “We’re staying down here though, right?”

“Of course. It’s not every day that someone explodes into ice. Mostly.”

“Are you two investigating something?” a voice asked.

They turned to find Emma stood quietly in the corner. “I’d quite like to help. I love a good mystery.”


	4. Chapter 4

Matt felt a tiny bit awkward as Emma stood over him and the Doctor as they examined the ice patch. Every time he looked back at her she appeared to be considering something while also looking off into the near distance.

“You two are from Scotland Yard, aren’t you?” she said suddenly.

Matt looked to the Doctor for how to respond. “Well, uh, not--”

“Only, I have had to go through the guest list several times, mostly to anticipate potential suitors my Great Aunt is lining up for me, and a ‘Mr. Matthew Blake’ certainly wasn’t on there.”

“You’ve got us there,” the Doctor smiled, pulling out a blank piece of paper from her jacket. “The Doctor and Mr. Blake – Paranormal Investigators.”

Emma looked at the blank paper and furrowed her brows. “Paranormal? ‘Para’ meaning beyond? What’s ‘beyond normal’?”

“May I present; the Doctor,” Matt replied. He noticed that the Doctor was squinting closely at the floor. “Any ideas?”

The Doctor pulled out a pair of tweezers from her coat pocket and picked up a small ice shard, about the size of her little finger but considerably thinner. “Not yet. What do you make of this?”

“Well…it’s ice,” Matt shrugged.

The Doctor took his non-bandaged hand and dropped the shard into his palm. “Anything else?”

Matt examined the ice closely, hoping to find something of interest. “It’s…cold?”

“It’s not melting,” Emma cut in.

The Doctor nodded. “Precisely.”

Matt looked back at the shard and closed his fingers around it. Sure enough, when he reopened his hand the ice was just as it had been, with not the slightest trace of liquid.

“So it’s not just frozen water?” Matt asked. “Apologies to your Great Aunt.”

“Technically speaking it’s frozen human remains encased in water. And probably a few other abnormalities that I’d need a half-decent lab to figure out.”

Matt suddenly felt slightly nauseous and allowed the shard to fall to the floor.

“I need to know precisely what happened,” the Doctor said, standing up and looking towards the staff who were working busily in silence.

“Martha?” Emma called. A small, stout woman looked up from the pastry she was rolling and approached the group, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yes, Miss?”

“Martha, I am awfully sorry to have to ask, but would you mind telling us precisely what caused this? It would very much help our investigation.”

“It’s really not an investigation,” Matt replied quietly.

“Oh, Miss,” Martha replied, wringing her hands. “You’ll only think me a madwoman. It were so awful.”

“Please try,” the Doctor pressed.

Martha looked behind her to her fellow staff who seemed to be ignoring them entirely.

“Well, Rosie were chopping some onions for the soup, weren’t she? And then she lets out this piercing squeal and I thought she must’ve lopped off some digit. But then she starts talking ‘bout how she can’t move; her feet’s stuck. Well, we all thinks she’s up to some hijinks again, hoping to get sent home. And then this…ice starts running up her body. All the way up her arms and her head. She looked like them ice sculptures your Great Aunt gets for her parties sometimes.

“Anyhow, she just stood there, frozen on the spot. We was all screaming the place down at this point. And then just like that, she explodes and disappears completely. That were around when you two came in,” Martha said, nodding towards Matt and the Doctor.

“Thank you, Martha. That was most helpful,” Emma said gently. “And let everyone know they are more than welcome to take a quiet moment if they need it. I’ll simply tell Petunia that I knocked over a few dishes while I was down here and thus caused a delay.”

Martha gave a warm smile and returned to her work.

“Do you think this is related to the time anomalies?” Matt asked the Doctor.

“The time what?” Emma piped in.

“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Matt flippantly.

“I am more than used to having a gentleman make presumptions over what I may or may not know, Mr. Blake, but I had hoped you would at the very least be someone to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Right,” Matt said guiltily. “Sorry.”

“Now _that_ is something I’m less used to hearing,” Emma smiled.

“I’d expect it to feel a bit more…timey if it were,” the Doctor shrugged, looking back at the ice patch. “This just feels normal-weird.”

“In the nicest possible sense, why would someone want to kill a scullery maid in such a dramatic fashion?” Matt asked.

“Rosie certainly wasn’t averse to controversy,” Emma allowed. “I can think of a fair few who may wish her harm. Perhaps not to these extremes, but even so.”

“And would they be here tonight?” the Doctor asked, looking strangely excited.

“Of course. It wouldn’t be a proper murder mystery otherwise.”

“Come on then; let’s get sleuthing!” the Doctor pronounced, bounding towards the steps, Emma following close behind her.

Matt sighed, “I guess I’ll come too then.”


	5. Chapter 5

Emma found herself being strangely captivated by these new arrivals, particularly this eccentric female Doctor. There was something very ‘other’ about her, as if she were existing on some higher plane than everyone else, entirely unaffected by the machinations of society. The way she breezed through the main hall, wearing what appeared to be little more than a highly tailored coat, unaware or at least unconcerned by the stares she was receiving, seemed entirely contrary and yet, at the same time, completely natural.

“That gentleman might be worth talking to,” Emma said, pointing to a dark-haired moustachioed man who was to the side of the room admiring the dancers.

“Lead on,” the Doctor replied, and Emma was slightly taken aback at being given any sort of agency.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” Emma called, cutting in to his conversation. “Might I have a word?”

Robert Fitzgerald looked down at Emma and smirked. “My dear hostess. It would be my pleasure.”

They led Fitzgerald to a quieter corner of the room, Matt finally having caught up to them but opting to keep some distance as if to be on lookout.

“Is something the matter, Miss. Lawrence?” Fitzgerald asked a little wearily.

“It’s concerning Rosie Thurston, the scullery maid; she’s been killed.”

Fitzgerald just about mustered a twinge of movement. “How terrible,” he said blankly.

“You don’t seem overly concerned, Mr. Fitzgerald,” the Doctor noted.

“Why should the death of some…penniless waif concern me?”

“Because I have it on good authority that you were having relations with this particular ‘penniless waif’,” Emma replied a tag smugly.

Fitzgerald turned a beetroot red and yanked Emma aggressively by the arm, one eye on the other guests. “You would do well not to dabble in scurrilous rumour, Miss. Lawrence.”

“Would you rather I ascertain the veracity of it with your wife, Mr. Fitzgerald?” Emma asked, her heart pounding.

Fitzgerald scoffed and let go of Emma’s arm. “It was barely anything; two months at most. A silly mistake.”

“I would consider the succeeding nine months that ended with Rosie disappearing for several days only to reappear noticeably smaller to be the ‘silly mistake’.”

Fitzgerald began shaking with anger.

“Remember where you are, Fitzgerald,” the Doctor said quietly.

“What is all this about, girl? You know full well that I haven’t been near those kitchens this evening. Blackmail then, is it?”

“I was simply showing the Doctor the people who may have had cruel intentions for poor Rosie.”

The Doctor shook her head. “Way too self-obsessed to have killed someone so blatantly. And definitely not smart enough to have done it in that style, even with alien help.”

“So this is alien then?” Matt chimed in, the word catching his attention.

“People tend not to instantaneously freeze and then explode on Earth, in my experience. And there was definitely something more than just human DNA in those ice shards.”

“What the devil are you blabbering about, woman?” Fitzgerald yelled. “The only alien I see is that Chinaman friend of yours.”

“Oh good. He’s a racist too,” sighed Matt.

“Good gracious! What are you doing?”

The group turned to the centre of the room where the exacerbated voice had rung out from.

An older gentleman was stood over a young man who was currently on all fours in the middle of the floor.

“Well, I appear to be somewhat stuck,” the younger man said in embarrassment, as if it were a silly thing for him to have let happen.

“You’re making a scene, you imbecile!” The older gentleman began tugging on his younger counterpart’s arm. “Stop this nonsense at once! Do you truly think Miss. Peacock wishes to see you made a fool out of in front of all these guests?”

Everyone had slowly begun to gather around this strange scene, the odd titter escaping above the general murmurs, audible since the musicians had stopped playing too.

“It’s just my hands, Father, they’re so awfully cold…” the younger man said uneasily, only now noticing the strange wave of ice that was spreading across his fingers and up his arms.

“Out the way!” the Doctor shouted, instantly pushing through the crowd and sliding down beside the young man. Emma, Matt and Fitzgerald followed behind, staring on in awe.

“I’m the Doctor, good to meet you, what’s your name?” the Doctor asked, pulling out her sonic and scanning the encroaching ice.

“Edward Goody,” the man replied shakily.

“Goody! Good! Great! Now listen, Edward, I’m going to do my best to get you free, but I need you to stay calm, OK?”

Edward nodded, the ice now coursing up his back.

“How did this start?” the Doctor asked.

“Well…I was getting a little tired and hot after having danced for so long and was hoping to get some refreshments when I found I couldn’t move my feet. And that caused me to fall over; it was like someone had tied my laces together.”

“So you didn’t feel cold?”

“No. I do now, though. I don’t suppose you have a blanket or anything do you?” Edward asked, only half-joking.

The Doctor removed her coat and placed it on top of Edward’s back which was now completely frozen.

“Oh dear. I hope I haven’t caused you embarrassment,” Edward shivered.

“Course not,” the Doctor watched closely as the ice travelled up Edward’s neck. “Listen, Edward, I need you to close your eyes, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Although clearly terrified, Edward did as he was instructed, the ice running up the sides of his face.

The Doctor stood herself up and quietly beckoned everyone backwards slightly. Within seconds the ice had fully consumed Edward’s body, and as if someone had dropped him from a great height he suddenly exploded, the Doctor’s coat falling to the floor where he had just been kneeling.

There were screams from the assembled mass and shrieks of horror as everyone was unsure in which direction to move.

“Edward!” a blonde woman yelled, pushing her way through the confusion and collapsing on the floor by the ice patch.

“No,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face as she pushed her hands through the frozen remains.

“Miss. Peacock, please get back!” Emma begged, surging forwards.

Against her better judgment Emma grabbed the young woman by the arms and tried to pull her away. But found that Miss. Peacock, too, had now become frozen in place.


	6. Chapter 6

Chaos.

As Emma stared at Miss. Peacock who was frantically trying to stand herself up, screaming for help, the ice surging its way from her knees and up her body, all she could see out the corner of her eye was chaos.

There were yells and cries and shrieks as people fled the ballroom, a confusion of movement heading in every conceivable direction. Emma felt herself pushed and bashed by all manner of terrified bodies, but for whatever reason found that she had no impetus to move. She briefly looked down to check whether she too had become frozen but was reassured to see her black boots were still perfectly visible.

Suddenly she found herself being pulled backwards by the arm, someone shouting her name over the incessant dim, and opted to do nothing but acquiesce.

Once Emma finally regained her faculties she realised that she was being pulled along by the Doctor and someone else, both of whom were urging her down a corridor that by all rights she should be perfectly familiar with, but currently looked completely unrecognisable.

“In here!” someone shouted, and she found herself being bundled into a room, that she was fairly sure had once been a parlour, but now for some reason had a giant blue box in.

“Are we safe?” Matt asked, panting and undoing his bowtie and top collar button to get more air.

“In the grand scheme of things, not at all,” the Doctor replied, easing Emma into a chair. “But you can’t tell me running didn’t help. Gets your blood going, your mind thinking. It’s why I do it so much.”

“Emma, who are these people?” a voice demanded.

Petunia Winchester-Blythe was sat in an ornate chair in the corner of the room, not so much quietly as inconspicuously.

“Great Aunt!” Emma exclaimed, leaping up as if being caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Are you hurt?”

“Do I look hurt? I had come in here hoping to find a few moments peace, and yet first I discover someone has erected some strange…blue wardrobe in my parlour, and then you come bounding in causing a completely unnecessary racket.”

“Sorry, Great Aunt,” Emma apologised, looking to the Doctor for support. “There just appears to be some sort of situation at--”

“Situation? What are you blabbering about child?”

“It appears your home’s been invaded by ice-based, more likely than not alien, lifeforms that are currently killing your guests by freezing their bodies and causing them to shatter,” the Doctor explained with a smile.

“The Doctor’s kind of used to this stuff though. So, don’t panic I guess?” Matt offered unconfidently.

“Has this whole house gone mad?” Petunia balked, dramatically rising from her chair and approaching the door. “Must I deal with every little issue myself?”

“Please, Great Aunt, stay in here for the time being. The Doctor and Mr. Blake are investigators, I imagine here for this precise reason. Let them handle it.”

“I’d consider myself a junior investigator, at best,” Matt chimed in.

“Get out of the way, you incompetent girl,” Petunia ordered, pushing Emma somewhat aggressively away and opening the door. “And get Martha to stoke the fire; it’s ridiculously cold in this house.”

Petunia slammed the door behind her, muttering as she went down the corridor.

Emma appeared to have been shocked into immobility again, staring at the door.

As if in response, the Doctor clapped her hands. “What do we know?”

Emma turned to the Doctor in a haze. “Excuse me?”

“Emma, people are dying out there right now. People you know, possibly even people you care about. What we don’t know is why or how, so the best possible thing we can do is pool our resources and figure it out together. So tell me, what do we know?”

“Well, it’s not affecting everyone,” Matt offered. “I feel like if it was some sort of viral thing then someone else in the kitchen would have been attacked, or it would have spread more quickly around the main hall.”

“Great!” What else?” the Doctor prompted.

Against her better judgment, Emma replayed the horror she had just seen in her head. “It starts on the floor. I could have sworn there was some sort of strange blue fog on the ground that drifted towards Miss. Peacock when… which meant that she was unable to get up because it had started at her knees. From what I could see, the same was true of Mr. Goody. And then it…spread up their bodies, towards their heads.”

“Fantastic! Which tells us that these things are in some way visible and ground-based. Subject to gravity in some way, not light enough to be airborne. But equally not individually large enough to look like much more than a gas, correct?”

Emma gave a hesitant nod. “Yes.”

“But for someone to freeze that entirely…it would need to be something approaching absolute zero,” Matt reasoned. “It’s like the moisture on their skin is freezing instantly.”

“Right. This is sentient ice though. Clever ice, smart ice. Ice that wants something. It traps you before it kills you. But what is it after?” the Doctor asked.

“If I were…’sentient ice’,” Emma said, confused by her own sentence, “then surely I would want more water. As Mr. Blake said, the moisture on people’s skin. Perhaps that’s what it’s after.”

“Interesting,” the Doctor mused.

Something clicked in Matt’s brain. “Rosie the maid. Martha said she was chopping onions – what always happens when you do that?”

“You start crying,” Emma said in thought. “And when Miss. Peacock dropped to the floor she was crying too, after having lost Mr. Moody.”

“And Edward himself said he had been going to sit down after getting hot from dancing too much,” added the Doctor. “Hot and, from the look of him, sweaty. It’s drawn to an excess of moisture.”

“Then we need to warn the others,” Emma replied, instantly snapping to. “This is my house and I will prevent every single death I possibly can.”


	7. Chapter 7

Emma, Matt and the Doctor cautiously left the confines of the parlour and headed back down the corridor. They were immediately struck by how cold it was, the temperature having dropped to match that of the evening air outside, if not even cooler. Having a better sense of what they were up against had calmed them, somewhat, and yet they each found themselves on constant alert, watching for any visible movements across the floor below them.

As they travelled further down the corridor, Emma began to make out the faintest sound of music drifting in the air. At first she simply assumed it was in her head, a replayed memory of what she expected to be hearing in the house this evening, but the further they travelled the more distinct the music became.

Emerging to the balcony above the ballroom, Emma was able to locate the source of the sound; a lone violinist sat in one corner of the room, playing a largely made-up tune that seemed to be unusually fast for the setting.

She was immediately disturbed to find that two couples were dancing to this composition, almost entirely lacking rhythm or coordination, but moving rapidly around the space none the less. Underneath them, the floor was almost entirely covered in a white frost, and Emma hoped desperately that this was at least partly due to the temperature and not just evidence of more loss of life.

“Incredible, isn’t it? The British spirit.”

The three looked up from the ballroom below to see Robert Fitzgerald stood against the back wall behind them, a lit cigarette in his hand. He approached them calmly as if making small talk at a party.

“Persevering against all odds. Marvellous,” he said, puffing out smoke.

“Why are they still dancing?” balked Matt.

Fitzgerald rolled his eyes. “To keep warm, of course.”

“Doctor, we need to stop them and get them out of here,” Emma urged.

“The exits have been frozen shut,” Fitzgerald replied plainly. “Some may have escaped. Most were frozen in the process. These fine specimens of true English tenacity have opted to keep warm in the most noble of manners.”

“They’re going to get themselves killed,” Matt protested. “If the ice stuff really is attracted to moisture then dancing so much that they sweat isn’t going to end well.”

The Doctor was way ahead of Matt, racing down the stairs and grabbing the violin from the player’s hands. He initially didn’t seem to protest, stuck in some sort of reverie, until she proceeded to bash it against the floor sending priceless chunks of wood flying in all directions.

“Sorry,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I’ve always been more of a cello person.”

Only one of the couples stopped dancing in response to this outburst, looking on in shock. The other remained prancing around the space, picking up their speed despite the lack of accompaniment. Emma looked closely at the last dancers and was horrified to see that the female of the pair was silently sobbing as they moved around the room.

“No…please…” she said mostly to herself, hitching her skirts and running down the stairs, Matt following close behind.

“Please stop!” she yelled as she ran onto the dance floor. But it was already too late; the woman had suddenly stopped mid-movement. Her partner remained holding her hands, not trying to move, as if he immediately understood what was happening.

“Goodbye, my love,” the woman sobbed quietly, as the ice reached her neck and began running up her face.

“Until tomorrow,” the man replied. He had not let go of his partner’s hands, and a single tear escaped his eye as he watched her become frozen entirely. But one tear was enough. The ice began travelling across his body too, jumping between their hands and down his arms. He did not squirm, however, simply holding his position; spine straight, shoulders back.

The two shattered as one.

“Doctor, do something,” Matt begged.

Emma turned from where the dancers had exploded to see Matt and the Doctor hunched over the man from the second pair, who Emma recognised as Mr. McGrady.

The man was on the floor, the ice clearly heading towards his damp forehead. The Doctor was twiddling with her sonic screwdriver, frantically trying to find something that would work.

“I can’t find a setting that won’t just cause him to shatter instantly.”

“Then…thaw him out. Melt him.”

“His whole body is ice; it’s not just an outer layer. If I cause the ice to melt, he will literally melt too.”

Even though it hurt to do so, Emma found herself skipping past this scene and instead heading to Mrs. McGrady who wasn’t yet a lost cause.

The young woman stood staring at her husband, and Emma ducked in front of her, blocking her view and taking her hands.

“Mrs. McGrady,” Emma called firmly. “Alice. Please, I need you to listen to me. Whatever you do, you mustn’t cry. Do you hear me?”

Alice stared back blankly. “I…mustn’t cry?”

“Yes,” Emma replied, chancing a look behind her as the ice consumed Mr. McGrady. “It’s hard, I know, but you must remain calm.”

“Stiff upper lip, eh?” Fitzgerald yelled unhelpfully from the balcony above. “We British do not weep! We keep on keeping on, no matter what. The true heart of the Empire!”

“Is that how you would have me be, Miss. Lawrence?” Alice asked. “Emotionless so as not to cause offense?”

“No…of course not, it’s just if you cry--”

“I love my husband, Miss. Lawrence. At the very least, he deserves my tears, does he not?”

Emma heard the crash of ice from behind her and gave an involuntary shiver.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. McGrady,” she said quietly.

“I am not,” Alice replied, tears falling down her cheeks.

Emma looked below her, watching in amazement as the blue mist swirled around her and onto Alice’s feet. As the ice began its ascent, Emma forced herself to turn away, unable to watch yet another needless death.

She felt an arm rest gently on her shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done, Emma.”

“My heart can’t take much more, Doctor.”

“Then let’s get you out of here.”

“No,” Emma replied abruptly. “I…I must find my Great Aunt. I need to ensure that she is safe.”

The Doctor looked around the ice-covered ballroom, choosing not to state the obvious. “Of course. I’ll help you look.”

“Then I’ll try and find any other survivors,” Matt offered.

“Thank you,” Emma said earnestly, as she and the Doctor quickly left the hall through a large door at the base of the stairs.

Matt didn’t like to admit that he needed some time alone. This situation was becoming increasingly overwhelming, and he appreciated the space to collect his thoughts, even if most of them were about his potentially impending death.

He mounted the stairs, opting to search the top floor first, only to find himself being yanked violently back by the collar, causing him to struggle for breath.

“Don’t think you’re getting away so easily, my alien friend,” Fitzgerald spat. “I’m in need of some bait.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I think I know where my Great Aunt may have headed,” Emma told the Doctor as she led her down a series of stairs and along a corridor. “We have a small sunroom at the back of the house that she will often go and seek calm in when things become too much for her. Ordinarily she has a strict ban on anyone else entering but, given the circumstances, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Your Great Aunt doesn’t seem to like…people much,” the Doctor mused, examining the frost-covered paintings hanging on the walls.

Emma let out a stifled laugh. “No, she can be a little abrasive sometimes. But I like to think she means well.”

“How did you end up living here with her?”

Emma didn’t respond at first, instead drawing her hands into her sleeves, largely because she was cold, but also as a comfort. “She took me in. My…mother and father and dear brother Alexander were killed tragically in a fire when I was six years of age. My father had taken me out for the day to visit his new factory; he was a book publisher. It’s why I like to read so much. It makes me feel connected to him, somehow.”

Emma sighed. “When we came home the fire had already started. It was a silly accident. My father instructed me to wait outside while he went in to save Alexander and my mother. I was still stood waiting when Petunia arrived to bring me here. She’s my closest living relative and took it upon herself to have me live with her.

“These things happen, though, I suppose. The universe has its reasons. And Petunia has, in her own way, cared for me ever since; that’s why I truly believe underneath all that brash and aloof personality there is a kind heart.”

“Sounds a lot like my own philosophy,” the Doctor smiled.

“I can’t help but feel it’s getting colder, Doctor,” Emma shivered. “I can even see my own breath now.”

The Doctor breathed out herself, watching the exhalation melt away in the air. “Huh. So you can.”

The Doctor suddenly became lost in thought and Emma looked at her curiously. “What’s the matter?”

“We can see our breath; moisture from our bodies. If that’s what this lifeform is after, why aren’t they attacking everyone? We’re all breathing out water droplets, our mouths are full of saliva. Why isn’t that enough?”

“You don’t believe its moisture they’re after then?”

The Doctor shook her head tiredly. “No. Maybe. I’m not sure. I just wish we knew why they’re here, specifically. How did they get here?”

“I was thinking on that,” Emma stated. “I wondered if it had something to do with our icehouse that we recently had installed. Great Aunt has something of a sweet tooth and became obsessed by this ice cream concoction she’d tried at Mrs. Parson’s. Anyhow, it meant having to purchase a large quantity of ice from a less than reputable salesman who had acquired it from someplace near Norway.”

“Of course. Hacking off great chunks of ice in areas untouched for centuries; who knows what you might dig up.”

“Interesting. But then why would the ice melt?”

“It melted?”

Emma nodded. “Yes. When Martha and the others tried to make ice cream in the kitchen and keep it cool, the ice kept melting even when they added salt, like they say you should.”

The Doctor’s mind latched on to a word. “Salt?”

“Supposedly salt makes ice cool things faster. I don’t claim to understand the mechanics of it, really. Either way it didn’t appear to work; the ice did nothing but melt.”

Emma looked back, realising that the Doctor had stopped partway down the corridor. “Doctor?”

“I was wrong. I was completely, stupidly wrong,” the Doctor replied, running up to Emma and grasping her by shoulders. “Why would some kind of alien bacteria that lives in ice want moisture? What would be the point; they _are_ moisture. I never considered why they specifically take the form of ice.”

Emma shook her head. “I’m not quite following.”

“When it’s frosty out and you don’t want to slip what do you do?”

“Well, Petunia always says to put a little salt on top to help things along.”

“Bingo! Salt. A creature that lives on sodium chloride; can’t get enough of the stuff. So much so that once it’s eaten the salt you were using to make ice cream it goes searching for more. And what should it find running down poor Rosie’s cheeks than some nice, salty tears. And once it’s reached those, well, it finds a veritable smorgasbord of salt reserves inside her body.”

“How awful,” Emma gasped.

“It gets worse. Because now it sees all you lovely humans in a new light. You’re walking sacks of salt. As long as you’re crying or sweating it can find a way in and chow down. Trouble is this is Victorian England; you’re all repressed emotions and bottled-up personalities.”

“I won’t consider that a compliment.”

“But this is clever ice. And it’s noticed something special about these strange couples swaying around the ballroom. Not only are they getting hot and sweaty, but kill one and invariably the other gets upset. Two birds, one stone.”

“Doctor, this is horrific. It’s praying on our emotions in order to kill us. Why on Earth are you smiling?”

“Because if I didn’t I’d be crying. And I wouldn’t ever stop.”


	9. Chapter 9

Fitzgerald dragged Matt into a small but ornate bathroom, aggressively shoving him to the floor and standing menacingly over him, a wild grin on his face.

“Have you gone completely insane?” Matt demanded, trying to pull himself up, only to be kicked in the shins by Fitzgerald’s boot.

“To the contrary. I believe this is the best idea I’ve had for quite some time.”

Fitzgerald reached across and turned the tap on over the bath.

“A marvel, isn’t it? Indoor plumbing; one would hardly think it possible a few years ago. I don’t suppose they have anything quite like this from where you’re from, eh?”

“That being Scotland,” Matt sighed.

“It’s quite cold,” Fitzgerald mused, swishing his hands in the running water. “Do you think they mind? I doubt it truly matters.”

“Who mind?”

“The demons, of course. Killing us like lambs to the slaughter. I heard you, saying how they were drawn to moisture. Didn’t think to warn me, did you?”

“We had more pressing matters at the time.”

Fitzgerald sighed and turned the tap off. “Well, no matter. You are more than able to be of use to me. You may die valiantly knowing that in the end you served your betters.”

In one quick motion Fitzgerald grabbed the back of Matt’s hair and plunged his head into the water. It was, indeed, ice cold, and Matt shook wildly from shock and fear.

After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, Fitzgerald pulled Matt back up, gasping for air and visibly shivering.

“What the hell!” Matt yelled, trying to compose himself.

“Hell indeed. For that is surely where these creatures have sprung from. Though it is an awfully strange coincidence you and your friend turning up out of the blue right when these demons launch their attack. I wouldn’t like to make any improper insinuations, though.”

“No,” Matt panted, wiping the water from his face. “It wouldn’t do to be improper now would it?”

Fitzgerald grabbed Matt by the shirt once more and pulled him up, Matt being too weak and too shocked to resist. “Come along. Let’s you and I find a way out of this mess, shall we?”

Fitzgerald forced Matt out of the bathroom and down a hallway, seemingly using him like a literal human shield.

“So you’re just banking on the ice killing me and leaving you well alone then?” Matt scoffed.

“One can only hope.”

“You know, people like you never really grew out of the whole ‘schoolground bully’ phase, did you? The only way you know how to make yourselves happy is by putting other people down, and that is just an extremely depressing way to live.”

Fitzgerald snapped and pushed Matt up against a wall.

“And what of people like you, eh? A foreign creature in a foreign land. Not good enough for your own world so you try and invade ours. You are alone in the world, boy. Not a person in this entire country would give a second thought to your death, so how much are you truly worth?”

Matt felt the colour drain from his face as the truth of Fitzgerald’s words seeped into his head. He truly was all alone. In every sense of the word.

“That’s what I thought,” Fitzgerald smirked.

But then his grin dropped. His eyes lost their focus as if he had suddenly spotted something in the distance. His grip loosened, and in a largely clumsy fashion Fitzgerald crumpled to the floor.

Matt stared down at the unconscious body on the ground, and then back up to the Doctor stood over him, armed with an umbrella.

“You knocked him out,” Matt remarked.

“Yup.”

“With an umbrella.”

“Told you I might need it. Bit bent now, though,” she frowned, looking at the handle.

“He…he was going to kill me.”

“Lucky I was here then. Emma and me had something of a revelation about our icy friends, and I came to tell you about it.”

The Doctor offered a hand to Matt as he cautiously stepped over Fitzgerald. “Matt, I’ve been around the universe a fair few times over the years and if there’s one thing I’ve come to realise it’s this; you are _never_ alone.”

The Doctor looked solemnly into Matt’s eyes who gave a small nod of understanding, the two walking back down the hallway, leaving Fitzgerald to enjoy the peace and quiet he truly deserved.


	10. Chapter 10

Emma continued on towards her Great Aunt’s sunroom, having decided to keep looking for Petunia rather than go with the Doctor to find Matt. Walking past windows she noticed how dark it was outside, the moon hidden behind invisible clouds in the sky, but also how silent it was. You could be forgiven for thinking Emma had simply woken up in the middle of the night rather than be partway through a ball largely held in her name. Just how many people’s lives had been lost? How could she ever hope to return to normality knowing the destruction and horror that had occurred in her own home?

Emma braced herself as she approached the door to the sunroom, which was tightly closed and thus a good indication that her Great Aunt was present. Even in spite of the general need for expediency given the current situation, Emma couldn’t not give a gentle knock on the door before cautiously entering.

As expected, she found her Great Aunt sat on her favourite heavily-cushioned chair, napping, a book she had apparently been looking through having fallen to the ground by her feet.

Emma approached Petunia and quietly bent down to retrieve the book. She instantly recognised the worn, engraved cover, gently stroking the contours with her hand. Her mother had taken a keen interest in the new revolution of photography, her ability to capture unique aspects of life in a still image being second to none. As a special gift, her father had had some of the photographs printed into a book at a great expense. It was a wholly unique item that the entire family treasured and, somehow, against all odds, had been one of very few things to be salvaged from the fire.

Emma stood next to the oil lamp Petunia had been burning and flicked through the pages. She had probably looked at every image in the book hundreds of times, in some weird way desperately hoping to see something else hidden in the photographs, something that might give some meaning to the whole tragedy, or shed light on the family she only barely knew. The photographs were largely of landscapes or interesting buildings. There were a few of their family home, and a couple of her father, looking both stoic and incredibly regal.

Emma turned the pages until, about three-quarters of the way through the book, she found the single image of her own family. Taken when she was about three, sat on her mother’s lap, Alexander standing next to her and their father behind them. The picture itself was incredibly small, but Emma’s mind filled in the finer details. As she had become older she had become increasingly conscious of the fact that she was beginning to lose memories of her family. Their faces were becoming less and less distinct, their voices muddled and unclear. Even this book, with its strange ability to open a window on past lives, was no longer the sufficient prompt it had once been.

There was a shuffling sound, and Emma looked up to see Petunia rousing from her sleep. For whatever reason she quickly closed the book and replaced it on the floor.

“Oh. It’s you,” Petunia said sleepily. “Have all the guests retired or are you simply shirking your responsibilities once more?”

Petunia looked down and noticed the book on the floor, and the fact that Emma was watching it closely.

“Your mother was a great talent.” Petunia picked up the book and placed it gently on her side table. “Such a shame that she doesn’t appear to have passed much of it on.”

“Great Aunt, we need to get out of here. We’re all in danger, and it would be much safer if--”

“Please stop this nonsense!” Petunia bellowed, surprising even Emma. “I have had just about enough of you and your endless excuses.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Emma pleaded. “Something is killing everyone in this house.”

Petunia refused to listen. “For almost fifteen years now I have done nothing but try for you. I have provided for you again and again, and I have done my utmost to see that you have some kind of future laid out. And each and every time you simply throw it back at me as if what I was offering was simply not good enough.”

Petunia stood up, picking up the book from the table and pushing it against Emma’s chest. “Your mother was an angel. Married suitably, made a life for herself, did all that was required of her. Never asked my sister - your grandmother - or me for anything. Why can’t you be even half the woman she was?”

“I’m trying,” Emma replied quietly, her hands shaking as she took hold of the book.

“Really? Because all I see is you rejecting perfectly acceptable suitors, time after time, presumably because you’ve decided you’re better than all of them. You know, people keep commending me for having taken you in. Raising some…orphan as if she were my own. Acting as if I am some kind of saint for honouring your parents’ legacy. Do you know why I did it, dear girl?”

Emma shook her head.

“I did it because it was expected of me. Because it was assumed that that was what would happen. Why would I ever want some…senseless child ruining my life day after day? You, young lady, should be thanking me. You owe me _everything_.”

Petunia, who had worked herself up to a deep shade of red, marched across to the bay windows and looked out to the night.

“Now leave me,” she demanded. “And close the door; it’s ridiculously cold in here.”

Emma stood, stuck to the spot, clutching the book in her hands, unsure what to do. She watched, vaguely, from the corner of her eyes, as Petunia pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose.

Almost out of instinct, Emma looked down as the blue wave of fog washed across the floor and towards her Great Aunt.

“Petunia,” Emma called feebly.

“Go!” the old woman yelled in response, turning around just as the mist reached her feet.

“Now what?” she said, scowling, as the ice began flowing up her shoes and on to her skirt.

Emma found that she was unable to speak, watching slowly as the ice enveloped Petunia, and listening to her frantic cries. It soon became too much to bear, and she closed her eyes, a single mantra repeating in her head on a loop:

Don’t cry.


	11. Chapter 11

Emma heard the crashing of ice against the ground and opened her eyes. Somehow, no longer being able to see Petunia made it all feel less real. She could trick her mind into thinking it had all been in her imagination, that her Great Aunt was currently tucked up in bed or resting in the parlour, totally unaffected by the night’s proceedings.

One thing broke her fantasy, however; the swirling blue mist on the floor where Petunia had been standing.

Emma looked at it, perplexed. She hadn’t really considered it as a conscious being before, more as some strange act of nature, uncontrollable and uncompromising. But now it was as if it was staring back at her, waiting, like a predator watching its prey.

“The Doctor was right,” Emma mused. “You’ve grown clever. You’re waiting for me to become upset about…what just happened.”

Emma stroked the cover of her book of photographs. “I didn’t know my mother long enough for her to tell me all of the things she no doubt meant to. But I remember her telling me once that one must learn to control one’s emotions. Not to tamp them down or to eradicate them entirely, but to understand their purpose. To appreciate that tears and laughter can be tools as much as they can be spontaneous reactions.”

She turned the pages of the book, landing on the first and last image of her family. “My parents were great people. Having only known them for such a short amount of time means that the things they did teach me have persevered through the years.

“You see this book is very special. One of a kind. Photography is such an astonishing phenomenon, and at the time my parents had learnt of a new, recently pioneered technique in the reproduction of images; the use of salt print.”

As if in response to the very word, the blue mist began moving erratically, snake-like, vaguely in Emma’s direction.

“It’s not just this one, either. I know from my father that salt plays a part in the production of most books and papers. Our library is full of the stuff. Never mind having to wait for one of us to start leaking salt, why not help yourself to a wider selection?”

Emma reached across and grabbed something from the side table next to where her Great Aunt had been sitting. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but perhaps you’ll allow me to take you there.”

She watched on in amazed horror as the mist rolled across the floor and travelled up her body, not freezing her, but instead resting on the book she held in her hand, as if she were holding a steak for piranhas to nibble on.

Holding the book suddenly became akin to holding a block of ice, and Emma could feel her hand begin to freeze and lose all feeling.

Even so she carried on, leaving the sunroom and closing the door behind her as instructed.

Everything that had happened and was happening rushed through Emma’s head, to such a degree that the sheer clash of thoughts in some way cancelled each other out, allowing her to walk down the hallway, head held high, body on the verge of collapse.

Fortunately, the library wasn’t too far away, and Emma shakily opened the door with her left hand, her right now turning a tinge of blue.

The library was one of Emma’s favourite spaces in the house, it’s large collection of books Petunia had amassed over the years filling rows of shelves that lined the walls.

Emma looked on them for a while, appreciating the notion that each one contained its own little world or collection of knowledge to be imparted.

She approached the nearest shelf and found a suitable gap, sliding her mother’s book of photography into the slot. Emma pulled her hand away, no longer feeling anything in her fingers, unable to move them out of the grip that had become frozen in.

The blue mist had already begun spreading outwards, dancing across the various books on multiple shelves. It didn’t take long for some books to become entirely frozen and eroded, their covers collapsing as the pages inside were consumed.

Very quietly, Emma removed the packet of matches she had taken from beside the oil lamp out of her pocket. She took one out and struck it, watching the flame dance on the match’s head.

“The very last thing my parents taught me was perhaps the most vital; the dangers of fire. How one little spark will grow and grow, taking everything with it. And it won’t stop until it has devoured everything in its path.”

Carefully, Emma slid the lit match onto the shelf between two particularly aged books. She quickly stood back, as within seconds the pages caught and set alight, spreading from one book to the next.

At a certain point the opposing forces of the blue mist and the fire met, mixing to create deep blue flames that could have been considered beautiful in any other circumstance.

Very quickly every shelf was alight, a dazzling blue, letting out puffs of pure white smoke. Emma was conscious not to breath it in, but was also determined not to leave the room out of sheer will. She wasn’t even sure if her plan was working at all until she noticed how some of the flames seemed to be dying away of their own accord, leaving nothing but black ash in their wake.

The clash of fire and ice had cancelled itself out, and within a matter of minutes nothing remained; no flames, no blue mist, and no books.

After being sure that the fire had gone, Emma very calmly left the library, gently closing the door behind her, and instantly bursting in to tears.


	12. Chapter 12

After finding that the house was suddenly getting warmer, and following the strange smell of smoke coming from downstairs, Matt and the Doctor eventually stumbled across Emma on the floor outside the library.

They supported her back to the parlour, waiting patiently as, in between tears, Emma slowly recounted what had happened.

“You did great,” the Doctor said, sitting next to Emma. “How’s the hand?”

“Getting better, I think,” Emma replied, flexing her still largely numb fingers.

“Hey, snap,” Matt said, holding up his own bandaged hand, his smile dropping as the strange similarity sunk in.

“It’ll get better. I can’t be sure the ice is all gone, though. I’m still not even sure how it operates as an entity,” the Doctor admitted.

“It’s gone,” Emma affirmed. “I watched it burn.”

“We haven’t really seen anyone else, either,” admitted Matt sombrely. “That’s not to say they didn’t get out – all the exits have thawed out now – but there doesn’t seem to be many people left. Except Fitzgerald, who snuck down the stairs when he thought we weren’t looking.”

Emma nodded, “I understand. I almost wish the whole house had burned down. It would’ve been much easier to explain.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Petunia. I’m sure you’re right and underneath it all she really did care,” the Doctor smiled.

“Yes. Probably.”

Emma wiped her face and brushed down her dress, resolutely standing up. “Anyway, it looks like the sun is just about to come up which means I have an awfully busy day ahead of me. I wouldn’t like to keep you both for longer than needed, particularly after all you’ve seen.”

The Doctor frowned slightly. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK?”

“Of course. I’ll keep my mind busy. Thank you for all your help Doctor. And you, Mr. Blake.”

“Please, just call me Matt.”

“I do hope you’ll stop by again sometime,” Emma said, turning her back on the two to hide her face. “Perhaps not in an investigative capacity, of course.”

“I hope so too,” the Doctor said, nodding for Matt to follow. “Come on, let’s go.”

They quietly entered the TARDIS as Emma looked fixedly out of a window at the first light of day.

Matt stood inside the TARDIS doors, his mind mulling things over. He walked up to the console, watching the Doctor closely as she fidgeted around.

“Can I ask you something?”

The Doctor briefly stopped. “Shoot.”

“Do you remember when we first came back to the parlour? When the ice started attacking people in the ballroom?” The Doctor nodded in response. “Why didn’t we just leave in the TARDIS then? I thought that was going to be your plan.”

“The job wasn’t over. People’s lives were still in danger.”

“Then why are we leaving now?”

The Doctor looked at Matt confusedly. “How do you mean?”

“The job’s not over.”

Matt sighed and looked back towards the TARDIS doors. “What you said was true. That people are never truly alone. Someone always has their backs. Maybe this time we can be that someone.”

Emma walked across to the chair Petunia usually sat in, picking up her discarded knitting needles, feeling the wool in her hands. If this was to be her life now she would need to learn the composure and control her parents espoused. She placed the knitting back in to Petunia’s bag and shut the clasp.

“Hey.”

Emma turned around to see Matt stood outside that strange blue wardrobe, looking slightly awkward.

“Matthew. I had assumed you and the Doctor had left.”

“Eh. We forgot something.” Matt stood to the side and gently pushed open the TARDIS door. “How would you feel about coming with us?”

“Coming…with you? Where?”

“We don’t know. That’s the fun of it.”

Emma scoffed. “But…the house. Everything that’s happened…”

“Let Fitzgerald handle it. I’m sure he’ll love the attention.”

“But I have nothing packed, I’m far from prepared.”

“You really don’t need anything, trust me. Come on,” he called, stepping in to the TARDIS.

Emma frowned, but approached the box out of curiosity. “Well we can’t possibly all fit in there. Where’s your actual transportation?”

“Just a little further,” a voice called from within.

Emma sighed and pushed open the blue door. Her face dropped in amazement. Like a magnet, she found herself drawn in to the strange world on the other side, its foreign colours and blinking lights and bizarre symbols.

“Good Heavens,” she murmured.

The TARDIS dematerialised.


End file.
